


Stuffed

by yeaka



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Gen, Vignette
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-25
Updated: 2019-11-25
Packaged: 2021-02-26 02:21:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 422
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21556153
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yeaka/pseuds/yeaka
Summary: Noct’s dumb.
Comments: 5
Kudos: 45





	Stuffed

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I don’t own Final Fantasy XV or any of its contents, and I’m not making any money off this.

They make their camp early in the evening, even though the sky’s not _quite_ dark enough to see the stars—but they’re all worn down from the hunt, and they need time to recuperate. As a special treat for surviving a particularly brutal mission, Ignis serves their favourite—instant noodles, but the custom kind he can do himself, which proves marginally healthier. Gladiolus and Noctis both wolf down enormous proportions despite Ignis’ judgmental looks. It’ll wash through Gladiolus’ beefcake body like water, but Noctis is a normal human being. 

It’s doesn’t surprise Ignis when Noctis excuses himself shortly after eating. Gladiolus and Prompto stick around the fire, mashing their phones and whooping as they trade battles back and forth over King’s Knight. Normally, Ignis would join them. At the moment, he’s not quite feeling up to it. He’s _tired_ , and he does understand why Noctis wanted to retire early.

Except when Ignis slips inside the tent, he can see that Noctis isn’t resting peacefully. He’s lying on his back, spread out across his sleeping bag, both hands on his stomach. His face is scrunched up in obvious pain. Ignis knows he should be more sympathetic, but he also knows it’s most likely self-inflicted, so he can’t help sighing, “What did you do?”

“’Think I ate too much,” Noctis mumbles, which is exactly what Ignis thought too. Noctis’ stomach rumbles loudly, clearly in distress. Noctis makes a noise of pain. 

Maybe that pain is enough punishment, but Ignis cares about Noctis too deeply to let it go. He needs to be assured that Noctis will learn a lesson and not do it again. He scolds, “You really must be more careful. You’re not a teenager; you can’t afford to make yourself sick anymore.”

“It’s not my fault,” Noctis whines, as though it could possibly be anyone else’s. He rolls his head over to Ignis and squints up through the dim firelight. He accuses, “It’s _your_ fault. Why’d you make it so good?”

Ignis snorts. He does feel flattered. There was a time when Noctis would eat everything he made without a single word of thanks, and Ignis allowed it because he loves Noctis more than his own pride. But he does appreciating some semblance of a complement afterwards. 

Because of that, he doesn’t say anymore. He strips out of his shoes and jacket, puts his glasses aside, and snuggles into his own sleeping bag. He ignores Noctis’ whimpering and bids, “Good night, Your Highness. I do hope you feel better in the morning.”


End file.
